Desert-Like-Town

É setembro em Brasilia.
A cidade é seca e as folhas fazem minha bicicleta derrapar. Folhas secas aos montes, organizada em montes, todos lugares.

A cidade deserta. So am I.

Há calor pela manhã, frio pela noite. Vou pra UnB montado na bicicleta, ouvindo música e é ainda seco. Sol queima forte, mas eu não tiro meu blazer, não tiro o boné com o gorro por cima (like de europeans are doing).

I miss my winter. I’m still living winter. I'm listening winter.
Alguns meses passaram e meu hibernato só começou há uma semana.

(on the surface simplicity, but the darkest pit in me is pagan poetry)

I’m freezing inside; I’m frying outside.
And everyday I look less like a human and more like a corpse.

Inverno cresce aqui dentro e cada dia mais eu penso: where is it?
Bliss... funny how that word was picked. Funny how ended our last conversation. And that word was mentioned there. I thought I had it. I found it, but how can I do in this town?


I was here, I was here first.


Eu lembro que ao desligar o telefone (depois de ter mudado de lugar todos os móveis do meu quarto) eu havia sentido o buraco de perder um grande amigo. Fiquei imaginando: So this is emptiness? He’ll be back to see how it changed?

Today, suddenly, I realized that void wasn’t there because a loss of a friend (friend?). Suddenly, I focused on myself.
I got distracted.
Now everything is so messed up that he is the least of my problems.

Some stuff should be here already. Things I thoutht I had conquered.

And instantly my grave grew much much bigger.


Pâle semptembre...
Deserto lá fora e eu usando minhas roupas de inverno.
I should be buried on they.

P.S.: I tried not but that behaviour really offended me. I haven’t notice how that affected me. I thought it got reflected, but it didn’t.